


don’t you want me baby

by teenagegiles



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Blow Jobs, Karaoke, M/M, john being terribly confused and absolutely whiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22310791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenagegiles/pseuds/teenagegiles
Summary: Simon convinces the band to do karaoke. Nick has a song in mind, and John is brought along for the ride.
Relationships: Nick Rhodes/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	don’t you want me baby

**Author's Note:**

> title from don’t you want me by the human league

John couldn’t tell you how he got here if he tried. 

He’s tucked back behind in the sound booth with Nick, watching Simon as he’s doing his critically acclaimed drunken rendition of Heart of Glass. He definitely can’t hit Debbie Harry’s vocal range, especially after his voice got so burnt out during tour, but nobody has the heart to tell him. 

They all stumbled in a while ago, returning to their old haunt of the Rum Runner after their last show of the year. It’s terribly nostalgic, nostalgic enough that after a couple of drinks Simon got on his hands and knees and begged- begged- to do karaoke. 

So they conceded. Nick shuffled back to the DJ booth, John following behind for old time’s sake. It’s been a while since he last DJed for the club and Nick’s forgotten most of the dials, so Debbie Harry’s voice is still prominent behind Simon’s, but it’s still a good show. 

He doesn’t realize Nick’s watching him until he manages to tear his eyes off of Simon’s dramatics. There’s a vaguely amused grin on his face, like he’s just said something that John absolutely did not hear. “What?”

Nick chuckles and shakes his head in what seems like faint adoration, diverting his eyes back to the controls. “He’s gonna make us do a song too, y’know,” 

“He can’t make us,” John groans, dragging his hand down his face. Karaoke is not John’s thing. However flashy he may be, he is perfectly content standing back behind Simon hammering away on his bass and definitely not singing.

“Andy and Roger are too stubborn to sing, you know this,” Nick reasons, smirking down at his soundboard. “And Charlie’s too stubborn to be the only one singing. So, I recommend thinking up a song now.” 

John’s drunk enough to think sticking out his tongue is a reasonable response, so that’s what he does. “I can’t think of one. You’re the world famous art rock connoisseur, you choose one for me.” 

Nick finally bothers to look up from his controls with a look on his face like he’s just been offered up the new Roland Jupiter for free. “Do you wanna do Don’t You Want Me with me?” 

John knows Don’t You Want Me. It’s the song that Nick’s had on repeat since it first came out a couple weeks ago, cursing himself for not writing that goddamn keyboard riff himself. He also knows that Nick, when he knows what he wants, is irresistible.

John sighs, and looks deep into Nick’s sarcastic puppy dog eyes. “Can I do the male part, at least?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Fucking Nick. Irresistible, irrefutable. He takes a healthy sip of his beer and sets it down a little bit harder than necessary. “Fine.” 

John almost misses Nick’s killer smile as he turns back to watch Simon. 

-

Nick’s right, per usual. Simon throws himself down on his knees again to beg for the boys to go up on stage. He really seems to enjoy being both horribly dramatic and on the floor. 

Andy’s drunker than Simon, so that’s an automatic no go. Roger simply shakes his head, his jaw set in stone, and Simon concedes to the other two. 

“Come on, Nicky,” he whines, hands in unstable prayer in front of him. “Just for tonight.” 

Nick grins. He’s planned for this, of course. John just inwardly gripes on how he got roped into this all as Nick begins his pitch. 

“Alright, alright,” Nick says, like he hasn’t been looking forward to this for the past five minutes. He actually even bothers to send John that playful glance he’s painfully well known for, and John swears he feels his blood run cold. “Me and John actually have something planned.”

Simon hoots, Andy and Roger both fall apart into hysterics and John has to pretend to ignore all of it. He simply drains the rest of his drink in a futile attempt to gather his confidence. 

Him standing next to- singing along with- the man, the myth, the beauty that is Nick Rhodes cannot be good for his self esteem. 

Before he can even mock excitement Simon’s pushing him onstage and Nick’s starting the song. 

John flounders for a moment, watching Nick run back from the sound booth to jump dramatically in front of his mic. Goddamnit, it was like Nick was made for this. He sways his hips perfectly to that riff he loves so much, sends John the stupidest little smile, and starts his lines. Controller, my ass, John thinks. Commander. Ruler would work better. No one should look that good singing this cheesy of a song at 3am. 

It’s stupid, too, how John feels about this. He tries to chalk it up as jealousy, watching Nick bounce around delivering his vocals, but he never felt this way about Simon. He could watch Simon sing all day and not feel a goddamn thing except bored. Nick’s something different. Nick, he just can’t put a word to it. 

John just grabs the mic stand like a lifeline and tries to remember the lyrics before the chorus hits.

He’s heard it a billion times, from the radio or just Nick playing it on the day to day, he should know this. But with Nick so close to him, his mind blanks.

John dares to steal a look only to find Nick staring right back at him. His eyes are set on his, darkened under the stage lights. It looks like he’s been watching him, and John just hadn’t bothered to notice. There’s a smirk tugging at his lips, eyebrow cocked. It seems like a challenge, but John is genuinely unsure of what for. 

He directs his attention back to their small crowd to sing the chorus, but it doesn’t last for long. Nick has gotten closer, nearly singing the words into his goddamn ear. His back is to his shoulder, resting his head back against him.

John freezes in place with the sudden touch, only managing to finish the chorus by pure miracle. He can vaguely hear Nick’s giggles in his ear, far from the mic. All of his attempts to swallow are thwarted by a sudden dry throat. 

He’s really got no choice but to continue, even as Nick really starts to sway his hips against him. It’s terrible, how much he wants to dance back against him, wrap his arm around his little waist and move with him, but the way his cheeks are already burning tells him it’s a bad idea. 

He’s stuck here, he declares inwardly, so he begins his verse with some struggle. He can’t quite hear himself over the sound of his blood rushing through his head, but with the way Nick is acting it seems as though he’s doing alright. He must be, to get Nick to turn around and trail his hands over his stomach. 

They’re both sweating from the warm stage, but Nick feels hot to the touch. He feels like when he lifts up his shirt tonight, he’ll find second degree burns. 

He only goes to look at him again when he’s done with his verse. Nick’s got this stupid teasing, starry look on his face, and before he knows it, he’s forcing the mic between the two of them to do the last couple choruses. John’s got the mic so Nick’s hands are free to roam, and so they do, tugging at John’s shirt tails to punctuate every don’t you want me. John can’t take his eyes off of him. He wonders what it means. 

Nick only lets go to dance off on his own to the final keyboard riff, becoming the Controller once again. He soaks up the attention from their small audience while John stands chock still. 

The end of the song is marked with one last little smile from Nick and under all these lights, John is genuinely concerned he’s going to faint. 

So, he leaves. He lets Nick bask in the glory of their ragtag group of friends and runs down the stage stairs to the bathroom. 

The club closed hours ago, and John stumbles in to find the lights off. He gropes around the tile walls a bit until he manages to find the light switch. The small room is flooded by the fluorescents as soon as he flips it. He blinks a bit. 

His reflection in the mirror is telling him he feels worse than he looks. His hair is matted down against his forehead, and his cheeks are deeply rouged, but overall, he looks like a sane, normal human. Not someone who feels like they’ve been set on fire. 

The first thing he does, naturally, is check his abdomen for second degree burns. He doesn’t find any. 

He begins to decide that he has no right to be feeling this way at all. He turns on the cold water and splashes it across his face, letting it drip down his neck. He momentarily enters a staring contest with the granite sink as he tries to get a hold of himself. 

It was just a performance. A playback, in front of three drunk idiots he gratefully calls friends. And Nick. 

Fucking Nick. He’s no different from the rest of them, he reasons. He’s his best friend, all the same. Nick should be nothing worth freaking out about, no matter how mediocre of a singer John is, and yet here he is. 

Freaking out over his best friend. 

He stares down his reflection and resists the urge to bang his head against the mirror. 

As if called upon by some otherworldly force, the bathroom door squeaks open. John can see a flash of messy blonde hair through the mirror and his stomach drops. 

“John? The others were gonna start heading out-“ 

At this point, banging his head against the mirror seems like the only logical course of action, so that’s exactly what he does. He can vaguely see his eyes through glass behind strands of red hair. He holds his own glare, ignoring the shuffles behind him. He doesn’t want to think about it. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Nick’s charming brummie drawl rings out from behind him, and John can almost tell there’s still that stupid smile on his face. “I thought you were better at holding your alcohol, John.” 

Delicate fingers reach out to pull his hair back. “Have you already thrown up?” 

John, of course, hasn’t, but now he kinda wants to. “I’m not sick,” he mutters out. 

“You sure look it,” is Nick’s witty reply. “Here, face me, come on.” His hands move to John’s shoulders, maneuvering him towards himself no matter how unwilling. The blush on his cheeks is painfully obvious as their eyes finally meet. 

Nick looks all too put together. His hair is beautifully messed, eyeliner fucked up in a way that makes him all the more appealing. John curses vehemently and buries his head in Nick’s shirt. 

“What’s wrong with you? We did good, y’know,” Nick tells him, proud grin apparent on his face. He seems to have completely forgotten how he almost burned his friend alive through his fucking fingertips. 

John drags his hands over his face for what is probably the tenth time that night. His hands are still warm. “We shouldn’t have done that. Now I’m going to do something stupid,” he whines into his palms. 

He dimly hears Nick playfully groan, and the grasp on his shoulders tightens. “You’re not stupid.”

John is stupid, though. He’s stupid for sitting here melting in Nick’s hands and ignoring it. He’s stupid for acting like an idiot on stage and not dancing like he wanted to. He’s stupid for hiding himself in his hands right now. “Stop looking at me like that,” 

“Like what?” Nick counters, running a hand through John’s fucked up hair. 

John can’t stop himself. He suddenly wishes he threw up for real, instead of this horrible word vomit that’s coming out now. 

“You- you’ve been smiling at me all night and then you danced at me and I didn’t dance back because I was stupid- and everytime I catch you looking at me you look away and you grin to yourself like I’m an idiot-“ He cuts himself off. “I’m an idiot.” 

He hears Nick sigh heavily, breath ghosting over the crown of his head. Nick’s fingers come to work at prying his own away from his face, setting his thumb on his chin and forcing his head up. John sniffles as their eyes meet again. He wishes he didn’t drink anything tonight. 

“You’re really hard not to look at, John, y’know. It’s terrible, really.” 

John laughs, soft and insane, cause he’s been thinking the same thing about him all night. Nick swats lightly at his head. 

“Stop laughing at me!” He complains half heartedly. 

“M’not,” John mumbles, through his little grin. 

“I just wanted to do my favorite song with you. Sorry if I got too much…” Nick trails off. “Just wanted to look at you, y'know. Just wanted to touch you,” 

It slowly occurs to John that Nick is just as stupid and drunk as he is. He lets the realization roll over him, allowing his shoulders to relax back into Nick’s touch. 

A lazy, signature John smirk spreads across his lips. He finally reaches out, slithering his arms around Nick’s waist and for once not feeling like he’s on fire. “You can touch me all you want…” 

Nick barks a shallow laugh, reaching down to reposition John’s searching hands. “Mm, really now?” 

“Yes, now,” John says, muffled as he attempts to neck up to Nick. He can’t quite get close enough, cause Nick keeps throwing his head back in these cute little giggles. He can smell his cologne from here though, so it’s not all bad. 

Nick pushes him back, and John vocalizes a disappointed little whine. It’s not for long though, cause Nick crashes his lips into John’s, disgusting and messy and horrible as far as coherent kisses go, but it’s alright. John kisses back anyway, cause his chapstick tastes nice, and cause it’s Nick. Nick, Master, Controller, Commander and all. 

When John pulls back Nick is still smiling even though his lipstick has been mouthed halfway across his face. 

“Let’s go home first, alright?” 

Mm. John can’t disagree with that, especially coming from him. 

-

They get back to Nick’s apartment with only a bit of trouble and a whole lot of not being able to take their hands off each other. Nick’s arm has been wrapped securely around the small of John’s back for half the walk, and it’s driving John partially insane. They’re barely through the door when John suddenly decides he can’t handle it anymore and shoves Nick up against the coat closet with a warm kiss. 

Nick doesn’t react exactly as planned. He laughs straight into the kiss, struggling to push the door closed under the attack of John’s grabby hands. “John,” he says breathlessly. 

John stops but is not put off, instead going in for a couple quick desperate pecks against Nick’s neck. 

“John,” he says again. “I’ve got a bed that I’d think you’d look better on.” 

Beds. Fuck, John completely forgot about that. He rests his head right into the nook of Nick’s shoulder and laughs softly against him. “Yes, please.” 

Nick grins, taking one of John’s wrists in his fingers and bringing him along to the bedroom. It’s nice, not being stuck in a hotel room, and being able to push John down onto his own fucking bed. His red hair lay scattered across Nick’s own pillow. 

He crawls on top of John, giving him the kiss he properly wanted. It’s searing and rough, terribly needy on both ends. Nick’s hands come to rest against John’s jaw, keeping him right where he wants him. 

John is struggling to keep it together. He pants, chest heaving as he chases every kiss from Nick. He bucks his hips unevenly, only to receive it back just as passionately. His hands go to Nick’s thighs to steady himself. 

Nick’s already moving on, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses and bite marks down John’s neck. His fingers work deftly at unbuttoning John’s shirt, leaving it a wrinkled mess around him. John groans as soon as he gets his hands on his chest. 

“Didn’t know you’d be such a pushover, Johnny,” Nick mumbles, muffled behind their closeness. He punctuates his point by a specific grind of his hips, earning a little yelp. 

John tangles his fingers in Nick’s coarse hair, other hand grabbing blindly in attempt to pull off his shirt. He can’t even think up a clever response. “Fuck, didn’t know you’d be such a tease,” he says ineloquently. 

Nick helps him out, sitting back up momentarily to rid himself of his tee shirt. Their eyes meet, Nick’s predatory blues searching into John’s psyche. He swears he can feel his mouth go dry. 

His next instinct is to touch, carefully reaching out to grasp at the jut of Nick’s hipbones and guiding his movement. The way they grind against each other is slow and maddening, leaving both desperate for more. 

Nick attaches himself to John’s lips once more, setting a hand down on the pillow next to him to steady himself as he rocks against him. He catches all of John’s whimpers, returning them with little nips to his bottom lip and light tugs on that soft red hair he loves so much. 

“Nick,” he grinds out, voice wavering behind his uneven breath. “Touch me, c’mon,” 

Nick doesn’t have to be told twice. He thinks it’s cute, watching John getting all riled up like this, verging on incoherence, but even he can’t lie and say he isn’t impatient. He concedes, snaking his hand down over John’s warm body to mess with the button on his jeans. 

John, the eager bastard, helps, kicking his jeans to the floor before Nick can even complain. He has free reign, ghosting his fingertips over the sensitive skin on his thighs just to hear him whimper. 

When Nick finally gets his hand on his dick, even through his boxers, John moans in earnest. It’s this beautiful, strained sound, pulled out from the depths of his throat. He watches, eyes a constant battle between staring wantonly at Nick and shutting blissfully. 

Nick decides immediately that this cannot do and makes quick work of John’s underwear. He takes the time to readjust himself between John’s legs, his partner moving to accommodate him. He can’t help but notice how fucked out and needy a John looks, his teeth tugging at his lip and his arms loosely sprawled over the covers. It’s endearing, how much this affects him. Nick just wants to give him his best. 

“You look so pretty right now, baby,” Nick says, speaking his mind. 

A dry chuckle racks through John’s body, a lazy smile spreading across his lips. “I thought you were tired of just looking.” 

Nick can’t help but playfully roll his eyes, pressing a few quick kisses to the inner corners of John’s thigh. He nips at the sensitive skin there, watching as John jumps and whimpers. “Fuck’s sake, Nicky,” he hears distantly, from under John’s breath. He grins. 

He moves his lips to the head of John’s cock, neglected, and darts his tongue out with an experimental lick. John quite nearly bucks up into his mouth, and Nick decidedly forces his hips down against the mattress. He’d like to do what he pleases. 

He takes him into his mouth slowly, lips enveloping him in wet heat and tongue working against him. John squirms underneath him, and he has to work to keep him in place. 

John simply can’t help it- the way Nick’s doing him over makes him feel like his nerves are on fire. He struggles to even vaguely keep quiet, unable to stop the strings of curses and whimpers and moans coming from his mouth. It’s just too damn good. 

It’s all going far too quickly, Nick won’t let him fucking move and John’s unable to escape the pleasure. He nearly hits his head on the bed frame in all his writhing. 

“Nick- fuck, fuck baby- close,” he pants out. 

Nick slows down a bit, and it almost makes it worse- tongue trailing over all the important veins, driving him insane. He can’t be expected to keep it together after that. 

He glances down to Nick only to see his big blue eyes staring right back at him, and it’s over for him. He comes, long and hard, a low moan escaping his throat. 

The only word he can think to say after that is “Nick.” 

Nick’s wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand still when John desperately pulls him back up to him. He can’t even really be bothered to think straight, he just tugs at the straining zipper at the front of Nick’s pants. 

Nick gets the idea as soon as John gets his hand on his dick and suddenly it’s all he fucking wants. He sets a hand down on John’s chest to steady himself and presses right into his hand. 

His hair covers his face, hanging down in messy strands. He’s seemingly lost control, already far too close just from watching. He bucks up once more before it’s all over for him- it always goes far too fast with John. John’s still working him when he comes, shaking.

He collapses into him with a tired whine. Nick is vaguely still moving against him, chasing his aftershocks with the steady rise and fall of John’s chest. Before long he steadies himself, panting. 

“Stay here,” Nick says, voice barely a whisper. 

John glances down at the small, blonde figure upon him, and he can’t help but nod. He’d do anything for Nick Rhodes, he thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> spawned entirely from my passing obsession with don’t you want me and an intense desire to see some more bottomy immensely whiny john. cheers, hope u enjoy


End file.
